


relived innocence

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Curse Breaking, Curses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27068329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “Could be worse,” Lambert remarked. “I mean, as far as curses go, to be a child again is hardly a drag.”Lambert bared his teeth, not unlike a wolf, before Vesemir sighed heavily. “Down, both of you. Fighting will not remedy the situation. Tonight we sleep and in the morning we start our research. Jaskier, does that sound okay?”He could only nod. Lambert was a bastard, undeniable, but he wasn’t wrong. There were worse curses.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 413





	relived innocence

**Author's Note:**

> written for one of my supporters!! hope yall enjoy <3
> 
> twitter: queermight/korrwrites   
> tumblr: korrmin

“I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier’s head snapped in his direction, eyes wide. “Is that an _invitation?_ ”

He had heard plenty of Vesemir, the man that had raised Geralt, and his brothers as well - Lambert and Eskel, mostly - but he had never _met_ any of them. Geralt had been pretty adamant about breaking off at the end of every year and continuing on his own. He had wanted to go, many times, but had never pushed. He knew better.

Geralt let out a huff of air, something like a laugh. “Did it sound like an invitation?”

“Well, yes, but now I’m just wondering if you’re feeling okay or not,” Jaskier said, reaching out to press a hand to Geralt’s forehead. He huffed again, swatting his hand away. If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he looked a little embarrassed.

Geralt cleared his throat, hard. “We have been friends for many years, Jaskier. I just thought…”

He didn’t finish his sentence and he didn’t need to, peering at Jaskier with raw honesty. A sign of the times. Jaskier smiled slightly as he sat back. “I would love that,” he said, truthful. “But will I be welcomed?” He paused. “Are humans even welcomed?”

Geralt returned his smile with a small one of his own, barely visible but Jaskier knew it was there if only because he knew _Geralt_ so well. Could read every small twitch of his face. “If you aren’t, we’ll turn around and leave together.”

Jaskier knew it was probably an empty promise - he would never abandon his family - but it was still sweet. He nodded once. “Well, okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated.

/

Jaskier rode on the front of Roach, Geralt a steady weight against his back. He shuddered at every turn, still covered in a splatter of blood from their _last_ encounter. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the path was so dark Jaskier couldn’t see more than a couple feet ahead of him. “You could’ve _warned_ me about the trek to Kaer Morhen being a literal nightmare.”

A rumble from behind him, the muted sound of Geralt’s laugh.

“Mmm, we called it The Killer when I was younger,” he said. “Gets easier over time.”

Jaskier was doubtful, but then again he wasn’t like Geralt. He could never do the things he did, and frankly that was just fine. He much preferred his lute. “Do you think they’d like my playing?”

“Eskel might,” he answered, surprising Jaskier. “Lambert. Well, I’m not sure he likes much of anything but ale and women.”

Laughing, Jaskier turned to peer at him. “Soooo,” he drawled. “Basically he’s like you? With dark hair?”

Geralt pinched him in the side, just the edge of too hard. “Take that back.”

“I don’t think I will,” he said breezily, turning back ahead.

Geralt was silent for a long moment. “Thank you,” he said, finding a way to surprise Jaskier again. “For accompanying me.”

Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek, ignored the too-fast thump of his heart. “Of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Rounding a corner in the path, Jaskier’s eyes widened at the sight of the keep. “Wow,” he breathed. “It is… very different from what I imagined,” he admitted, but no less impressive. More than anything, he was just happy to see this part of Geralt’s childhood. Maybe get to know a bit more about him. He felt honored that Geralt was sharing this with him, no matter the outcome.

Geralt snorted as he jumped down from Roach and offered a hand. Jaskier couldn’t remember him ever doing that before. “I can smell the others. They’re already here.” 

Jaskier took his hand, shaking his head. “Witchers,” he mumbled, equally fond and exasperated.

/

They were greeted at the entrance by a man that looked like Geralt in many ways, long white hair cascading down his back, but far older. He didn’t look unkind, but certainly confused as he eyed Jaskier with interest.

“You brought a human with you?” he asked finally, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Geralt nodded curtly. “A - ” He side-eyed Jaskier, cleared his throat. “A friend.”

Vesemir’s eyes grew a bit brighter as he took in the information. “How wonderful. Vesemir,” he said to Jaskier, extending a hand. He quickly took it.

“Jaskier,” he greeted brightly. “The pleasure is all mine. You have quite a lovely - uh, _place_.”

He heard Geralt’s snicker and very nearly stomped on his foot. Thankfully he didn’t need to; one sharp look from Vesemir and his mouth snapped shut.

“Thank you,” Vesemir said. “Follow me.”

Jaskier followed both of them inside the keep, silently observing. It was only when they entered a large room, full of tables and the lingering smell of food, that he saw the others. Jaskier had heard just enough about them from Geralt to guess the man sitting leisurely, a tankard of ale in his hand, was Lambert and the other was Eskel, flipping through a book.

“Are you hungry?” Vesemir asked as Geralt walked to the table and Jaskier followed, feeling the heavy gaze of the other two men. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said without waiting for a reply. “Make yourself comfortable, Jaskier.”

He was gone for at least three minutes before any of them spoke, and it was Lambert, “Of course if any of us were somehow going to return with a human, it’d be Geralt.”

Suddenly there were laughter from all of them. Jaskier watched, mesmerized, as Geralt quickly hugged Eskel, patting his back, before shoving Lambert.

“Eskel, Lambert,” he said as he stepped back to Jaskier’s side. “This is Jaskier.”

Jaskier watched as Eskel leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He smiled slightly. Even with his admittedly unfortunate scar, Jaskier couldn’t think he looked anything less than kind. Then again he had never agreed with popular opinion, he supposed.

“You are Geralt’s…” he trailed off, glancing between the two.

Jaskier ignored the irregular beat of his heart. “Friend,” he finished, smiling in Geralt’s direction. “Only took him about, hm, two decades to agree on that.”

Geralt shook his head. “You’ve been my friend for much longer,” he assured him, and Jaskier’s smile only grew.

“Right,” Eskel said with a smile of his own. “Friends.”

Vesemir quickly returned with a boiling pot of something savory. Jaskier didn’t much care, his stomach growled happily at the smell. Sitting at the table, they all ate in silence. It was unexpectedly pleasant.

“Geralt will show you to your room,” Vesemir said after dinner. “Rest first; the travel here is never an easy one. In the morning, breakfast will be served. The others will spend much of their time doing chores or training.” He gave a small smile, not unlike the one Geralt often gave. Jaskier supposed he knew the origin of that now. “Feel free to explore. We have quite an impressive library.”

He smiled brightly. “Thank you,” he said, meaning it.

/

The library _was_ impressive. While music had always been his first passion, Jaskier enjoyed a good book almost as much as a good song. These books weren’t fiction, of course. Jaskier spent much of the first week at Kaer Morhen rarely leaving the library if not for food or sleep; often the others would stop by for short periods to check up on him.

Vesemir was no exception. On the third day, he stopped by and took one of the empty chairs near Jaskier. Grabbing a book at random, he flipped to the first page. Jaskier looked up. “Thank you,” he said. “For letting me stay.”

He nodded once, looking up from his book. “My pleasure. Geralt - well, he doesn’t usually make _friends_.” He looked vaguely amused. “I always told him we had duties, but that there was no rule saying we had to do them alone. I’m glad to see he might’ve finally learned that.”

“Took him a while,” Jaskier admitted. He smiled, looking down. “But it was worth the wait. I, uh, well. I care about him a lot.”

Vesemir let out something not unlike a laugh. Jaskier found that he quite enjoyed the man’s company. “Most good things are worth waiting for,” he replied. “I hope to see you here again, Jaskier,” he said. “As difficult as Geralt can be, he has a good soul.”

Jaskier side-eyed him. “You believe in stuff like that?”

“Why not?” he said, eyes twinkling. “By my age, might as well experiment in all.”

Jaskier grinned. “Smart man.”

“Well.” Vesemir closed his book, setting it aside. “Unfortunately, this place doesn’t take care of itself.” He stood up and so did Jaskier.

“I should help,” he said. “I mean, you’re letting me stay here. It is the least I could—”

Vesemir shook his head. “Stay,” he said, gesturing around. “Explore. There are many towers that you might enjoy the view from. Kaer Morhen doesn’t have much, but enjoy yourself. We don’t have guests very often.”

“Right. Of course. Thank you again. Truly.”

He watched as Vesemir left before spinning in a slow circle, lips pursed. Where to start? He grabbed the book he’d been reading - it really _was_ quite interesting - before tucking it under his arm and heading to the doors. A tower sounded like the perfect place to read.

And it was, he found, settling down in one of the towers with his book. Later he would bring his lute up and play some. As much as he was grateful for Geralt’s invite, he would miss playing for an audience. Perhaps he really could play for Eskel and Lambert, even Vesemir. The thought brought a smile to his face.

Halfway through the book, he sighed heavily and leaned back. The sun was warm. The stone was hard under his arse. He would grab a blanket next time.

“Not so bad,” he breathed, letting his eyelashes flutter shut. He could get used to this.

/

“Jaskier. _Jaskier_ , what the—”

He opened his eyes to the moon in the sky and Geralt hovering over him, eyes dark with worry. Jaskier smiled slightly. “Mmm, why the long look, Geralt?” he mumbled as he sat up. The first thing he noticed was the pile of ash in his lap.

“What happened?” Geralt quickly asked, gripping his arms. Jaskier idly noted that his hands seemed bigger than usual, completely engulfing his arms. Actually, now that he was properly sitting… Geralt seemed a lot bigger in general. Taller. “Are you okay?”

Jaskier blinked a few times. “I - I don’t know.”

“What is this?” he continued, brushing the ash out of his lap. “Did you burn yourself?”

Jaskier swallowed. “What? No. I - no, it was a book.”

Geralt sat back, mouth a thin line. “From where?”

“The library,” he answered. “Geralt, why are you _looking_ at me like that?”

Without answering, he quickly stood up and offered a hand. Jaskier frowned, but took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet with surprisingly ease. “You don’t have to be such a show—” It was only once he was standing that he realized it hadn’t just been a trick of the light, or angles. Geralt was looming over him, jaw clenched. “Seriously, Geralt, what is going on?”

“I don’t know,” he said, voice a deep rumble. “Come on.”

Jaskier followed, not left with much of a choice given that Geralt was still gripping his hand, tight, tight. He stopped once they reached the dining hall; everyone else was already there. Jaskier could smell freshly-baked bread in the air.

He found that he wasn’t actually all that hungry.

“Geralt,” Vesemir was the first to speak. “Jaskier. What happened?”

Jaskier watched as Geralt shrugged, stiff as a board. “I found him on one of the balconies. He was already like this.”

His heart was heavy in his chest. He squeezed Geralt’s hand. “Okay, would someone mind telling me exactly what is going on here?”

Without a word, Eskel extended a mug toward him. Geralt released his hand. Frowning, Jaskier stepped forward to take the mug - it was tea, he thought, based on the leafy smell. He glanced around at the others, all silently watching.

“I’m not thirsty,” he said finally, and Eskel shook his head with a small frown.

“Look,” he said.

Looking down, he peered at his reflection. He was still him, undoubtedly, eyes bright and blue, brown hair falling in his forehead, but he also _wasn’t_. He remembered looking like this, certainly, chubby cheeks and hair a bit too long, but not for many decades. He nearly dropped the mug. Would have if Geralt hadn’t been there to take it from him.

“What the fuck?” he asked, voice a pitch too high.

Geralt was a welcomed source of warmth to his side, comforting and familiar, his hand now on his shoulder. “Jaskier, did you do anything unusual? Touch anything?”

“Eat anything,” Eskel piped up.

Jaskier swallowed, trying to think. “I - I just went up to the tower but that couldn’t possibly have - wait.” He turned his wide eyes to Geralt. “I took a book. From the library. That was what you saw earlier.” He gestured wildly, heart pounding. “The, um, ash.”

“A book?” Vesemir asked, finally joining the conversation. “What kind of book?”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt again. He gave a short nod, and he turned back to the others. “I - don’t remember. There was an odd painting on the front. Um. It was about a witch? Fiction, I think. I don’t know.”

Lambert’s loud groan echoed off the walls of the hall. “Not that fucking piece of crap. It was in the _library?_ ”

“What book?” Geralt asked through clenched teeth. “ _Lambert_.”

He at least looked vaguely apologetic as he explained, “I was on a hunt. Stumbled across this rouge mage. Was the worst bitch I’d ever met. She died and that book was the only thing on her.”

“And you took it with you?” Vesemir asked from the end of the table, voice perfectly even.

Lambert winced, the most fear Jaskier had seen from him so far. “I thought it might be worth reading later. Had a lot of spells in it.”

“You read it?” Geralt asked gruffly. Jaskier was happy to have him take charge of the conversation for once. He didn’t feel so good.

Lambert put his hands up. “ _Skimmed_ it. Nothing like that happened to me.”

“But you aren’t human,” Eskel said, low and thoughtful. “The book was probably cursed to only affect humans. A way to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

Jaskier let out a strangled laugh. “Of course.”

Geralt crouched to his level, _because he had to do that now._ Jaskier had always liked knowing he at least matched his height, if nothing else. “We’ll find a way to reverse it,” he said with a confidence that was admittedly hard to doubt. Jaskier smiled slightly. “You saw our library.”

“We can call in a mage if nothing else,” Vesemir said.

Jaskier sharply turned his head toward Geralt. “I swear to the Gods above if _Yennefer_ shows up here, I will—”

“She wouldn’t come if we called anyway,” Geralt interrupted, and Jaskier was surprised to find no disappointment in his voice. He relaxed a little. “We know other mages, Jaskier,” he continued gruffly. “And we have centuries worth of knowledge right here at Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier nodded slowly. “Right. Well. I guess I’m stuck like this for a while.”

“Could be worse,” Lambert remarked. “I mean, as far as curses go, to be a child again is hardly a drag.”

Geralt hit him, hard, in the arm before Jaskier could do the same. At least he knew Geralt’s punch held a lot more weight. “Don’t be a bastard,” he growled. “This is _your_ fault. You should’ve kept that stupid book in your room.”

Lambert bared his teeth, not unlike a wolf, before Vesemir sighed heavily. “Down, both of you. Fighting will not remedy the situation. Tonight we sleep and in the morning we start our research. Jaskier, does that sound okay?”

He could only nod. Lambert was a bastard, undeniable, but he wasn’t wrong. There were worse curses.

/

Except Jaskier _couldn’t_ sleep. He tried, really, but all he did was stare at the ceiling for hours before finally accepting his fate. Eventually he slid out of bed and left his room, pointedly ignoring the library as he walked to the dining hall. It was weird, seeing it empty and quiet, smelling of dust and nothing else.

“Can’t sleep?”

He startled, spinning around, relieved to find it was only Geralt. “I can’t play my lute,” he blurted.

Geralt blinked as he approached, sliding onto the stone bench. Jaskier took a shaky breath before he joined him. “What do you mean?”

He smiled sadly, lifting his hands with a stiff shrug. “Too small. Size apparently _does_ matter.”

An amused snort from his side, and Jaskier longed to hear it again.

“You can’t stay up all night,” he said.

Jaskier sighed, peering at the fireplace, empty and cold. “I’ve survived on less.”

“And were you cursed during those times?” he replied with a hint of amusement. Jaskier shook his head with a small smile. Silence followed, surprisingly comfortable. “I’m sorry,” was what broke the silence, and Jaskier’s head snapped in Geralt’s direction. He stared at the fireplace now as well, jaw clenched. “I shouldn’t have invited you. It was - selfish.”

Jaskier sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, released it. “Why did you?” he asked after a moment. “Invite me, I mean. We’ve been friends for so long and you never did before.”

Geralt smiled ruefully. “Want the truth or the safe answer?”

“Have you ever known me to take the safe path?” he replied with a smile of his own.

Geralt snorted again, and Jaskier ducked his head, pleased with himself.

“I care for you, Jaskier,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “In ways I never thought I could care about another person. Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel.” He closed his eyes. “Roach, Yen. I care for all of them, but it’s different. How I feel about you. Always has been.”

Jaskier held his breath. Geralt opened his eyes, peeking over at him.

“I wanted you to meet them. The closest thing I have to a family because that’s - ” He stopped. Took a deep breath. “That is what you are to me.”

Jaskier nodded, biting his bottom lip. “Well, I think you know by now that a lil ol’ curse is hardly enough to scare me off.”

“Unfortunately you’ve never had very good survival instincts,” he agreed, smirking.

Jaskier punched him in the arm. He couldn’t hurt him at his best, but especially now. They were silent again until finally Geralt stood up, offering a hand. Jaskier took it. Geralt’s hand was laughably bigger than his own. Jaskier actually didn’t quite mind that, felt safe as he was tugged to his feet.

“I have an idea,” he said.

A few minutes later and Jaskier was already nearing sleep, peering up at the night sky, the wind cool on his skin. Geralt laid next to him, the blankets from both of their rooms pulled out onto the balcony with them. Geralt had pointedly passed by _the_ balcony and Jaskier had smiled gratefully.

“We’ll fix this, Jaskier.”

Jaskier turned toward him. “I believe you,” he whispered as he yawned. “I always have.”

/

In the morning, Geralt offered a hand and pulled Jaskier to his feet, muttering something about breakfast, when suddenly his eyes widened just enough to be noticed by the bard. “What?” he asked quickly, heart pounding. Geralt extended a hand out just above Jaskier’s head, pulling it back to his side with a tight-lipped expression. “Geralt.”

“You’re shorter,” he replied gruffly.

Jaskier blinked. As he craned his neck to peer up at Geralt, the stupid giant, he realized he was right. “Okay. I mean. Okay, that’s - weird. But I’m _fine_ , right? I mean, I feel fine.”

Geralt opened his mouth, closed it. “I don’t know,” he said finally, putting a hand to the back of his head to guide him off the balcony.

When they entered the dining hall, Jaskier caught whiff of breakfast like usual and also the familiar smell of old books. Dozens of them were scattered around the table. Vesemir was the first to look up and his eyes narrowed at the sight of them.

“Jaskier is shorter,” Geralt said quickly.

Lambert and Eskel lifted their heads at that, joining Vesemir in staring at the bard. Jaskier normally enjoyed attention, mind you, but this wasn’t exactly the best kind. He stayed still as they looked him over though, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Not just shorter,” Eskel said finally, quiet and thoughtful. Geralt glanced at him with a frown. “ _Younger_.”

Geralt blinked once before his gaze snapped back to Jaskier. “Fuck.”

“ _That_ can’t be good,” Lambert muttered, and Geralt glared at him. He put his hands up with a shrug.

Vesemir stood up suddenly, and all eyes turned to him. Jaskier kind of felt like there was a man sitting on his chest, crushing his lungs. Vesemir nodded tightly at Jaskier, and at first he just stared back dumbly, not understanding, before realizing the cue wasn’t for him. Geralt ducked next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Jaskier, breathe,” he said. “Come on. Focus. In, out. In, out - just like that.”

He focused on Geralt’s eyes, pretty and familiar. How a person ever saw those eyes and thought _monster_ , he’d never know. “There, there, good,” Geralt let out a deep breath, squeezing him to his side. He glanced at Vesemir, who kept his eyes on Jaskier, dark and calculating

“The curse didn’t just revert him back to that state and stop,” he said. “It’s still active.”

Jaskier reached for Geralt’s hand, which he gave without a word or fight. He squeezed, as hard as he could, but he knew - for Geralt - it was probably nothing more than a minor discomfort at most. His mouth felt too dry for words. Thankfully, he didn’t need them.

“Well?” Geralt prompted impatiently, jaw clenched. “It has to stop eventually, right?”

Vesemir pressed his lips together. “Yes,” he answered finally. “As with any curse, there has to be an end.”

“But when?” Jaskier asked, finally finding his voice.

Vesemir wouldn’t look at him. Jaskier knew that was a bad sign. He squeezed his eyes shut, felt Geralt’s weight against his side.

“The _end_ may be the end,” Vesemir finally after a long stretch of silence. Jaskier let out something, a mix of a laugh and a sob. Geralt cursed loudly under his breath. “De-aging isn’t an unheard of concept in curses or spells,” he continued, and Jaskier tried not to lash out at how _calm_ he sounded, like this was no big deal. He knew he cared, he did, but it was hard to remember in his current state, heart pounding and palms sweaty. “But normally the accursed is reversed back to a certain age and they stay there. I haven’t seen many that… keep going.”

Geralt exchanged a look with Eskel, who spoke for all of them, “Why do you think that is?”

“Because there are easier ways to kill a person,” he replied simply. Jaskier very nearly dropped to the ground; the only thing that kept him up were Geralt’s sturdy arms.

Vesemir sighed, and Jaskier thought he saw a flash of guilt in his eyes. “Take him to his room. Let him rest. We have work to do.”

/

Jaskier opened his eyes to Geralt, a familiar sight. His expression was tight, a mix of anger and regret in every line of his face. He knew without having to ask. “I’m going to die, Geralt,” he said but then he laughed, loud and bitter. “Is it even dying if I just - I don’t know. Cease to exist?”

He had always known he would die, obviously, maybe even sooner than most given his relationship with Geralt, but he had never considered this as a possibility. It was almost worse. There wouldn’t even be a body to bury. That closure for Geralt that Jaskier knew he would need, even if he denied it, the sappy bastard.

“Don’t say that,” Geralt replied quickly. “Breakfast has been served. Come on.”

He sat up. “I’m not hungry.”

“But you need to keep your energy up,” Geralt said.

Jaskier laughed again as he stood up; one look at Geralt, even taller than before, and his heart squeezed painfully in his chest. “Pretty sure that doesn’t actually matter,” he muttered. Geralt didn’t reply, just led him out of the room.

Vesemir looked stricken when they entered the hall. Jaskier walked quietly to an empty spot. The bread was soft and fresh, better than most inns. Jaskier still didn’t feel like eating.

“The curse is progressing this quickly?” Eskel asked, and Jaskier at least felt grateful for his sincere concern. “At this rate—”

Geralt cleared his throat, hard, and the whole hall went silent. Jaskier sniffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I may look like this but know that my mind is perfectly sound,” he said, pushing his plate away. He wondered if it’d be easier if his mind had been altered as well. “Don’t tiptoe for my sake.”

“He’s right,” Vesemir said. “If we want to find a way to break this, we need to be quick and at our best.”

/

They called for a mage on the third day. Not Yennefer, but a perfectly capable sorceress who took one look at Jaskier and frowned. That was all he needed to see. After she left, Jaskier escaped to one of the towers. He had nothing to do, lute too big and now too afraid to sneak a book up with him. He sat on the stone, staring at the mountains in the distance.

Eventually he heard footsteps and then a warm weight by his side.

“We’re going to figure this out.”

Jaskier side-eyed Geralt. “You’ve already dug through half of the library. The mage is dead. I don’t think luck is on my side. I’m _fucked_ , Geralt.”

“No,” he replied firmly. “You will be fine, Jaskier. You will.”

There was something off in his voice, a weird tilt that had Jaskier fully facing him. Desperation, he realized, was what he heard. Geralt stared back at him, mouth a thin line.

“You can’t promise that,” he said quietly.

Geralt grunted as he placed a hand on his own thigh, palm up. Jaskier eyed it for a moment, smiling slightly, before he took the invitation. Geralt’s hand was warm, a stark contrast to the cold air all around them, and big enough to engulf his much smaller hand. “I can,” he said, looking ahead, “because you have to be, Jaskier.” A long pause, a deep breath. “I can’t lose you.”

“You’d be just fine without me,” he muttered, and Geralt squeezed his hand just the edge of too hard.

“I wouldn’t be,” he said, voice low.

Jaskier had never wanted to kiss him more and yet a situation had never called for it less. He closed his eyes. “Promise me something else,” he said.

“Anything,” was his reply, painfully earnest. A sign of the times. Jaskier wondered if Geralt would’ve changed so much if not for him. Would Yennefer have been capable of it, with all her sharp edges and distrust? Would another bard had bounced along, bright-eyed and dumbly trusting of the man they called a monster? He supposed it was unlikely. Jaskier had been a special brand of stupid from the start and he was glad for it because he might not have ever met Geralt if he’d been any smarter.

Jaskier sighed softly, “Don’t ever leave me again.”

It had been a long time since the mountain and yet the wound was still fresh, always there, a fear buried deep in Jaskier’s core. Geralt let out a sound that would’ve sounded like a sob if he didn’t know better. He cleared his throat. “Never,” he confirmed. “We’re going to get out of this and leave together at the end of winter.”

“I’m supposed to be the optimistic one,” he said quietly, smiling a little.

Geralt shrugged. “We can take turns.”

“Might be a while before I can take over again,” he replied, and Geralt simply shrugged a second time.

/

Jaskier couldn’t do it. The library, the dining hall, every room in the keep was full of books and stressed witchers and he just— _couldn’t_. By the end of the first week, he didn’t have much of a choice though. He had regressed enough that Geralt was being annoyingly protective, hardly letting him out of sight. He could still talk but Vesemir had shared his thoughts on that.

(“By the middle of next week, well.” He had cleared his throat. Jaskier felt like an idiot, sitting between Geralt and Eskel, barely able to peer over the table. “I worry you may no longer be able to speak.”

“But my mind is - ” he had argued, heart pounding so fast Geralt must’ve noticed, placing a hand on his back, a steady weight.

Vesemir shook his head. “Sorry, boy, but even with your brain as it is, your body won’t be capable.”)

Jaskier sat in a too-big chair, feet dangling far from the ground. Geralt was in the library with him, cursing every time he finished a book. By the fifth book, he had resorted to angrily throwing it across the room. It hit one of bookcases with a loud thump. He glanced at Jaskier after, looking vaguely guilty, but he forced a tight smile.

He could hardly blame him for his anger.

“We’re running out of time,” he said. “ _I’m_ running out of time.”

Geralt quickly stood, crossing the room. He crouched in front of him. Jaskier had never seen him look so worn, dark bags under his eyes, new wrinkles around his mouth. “You are not,” he said. “Vesemir thinks we still have a week before—”

“I, what? Just - disappear? Cease to exist?” Jaskier laughed, eyes stinging. “I think I would prefer death. At least then you’d have something to bury.”

Geralt growled and for a moment Jaskier wouldn’t have been surprised if he threw something again but he didn’t. Taking a deep breath, he seemed to calm down. “I know what I said the other night and I meant it but Jaskier, I need you to keep yourself together, okay?”

“Might be a little difficult, given the circumstances,” he replied, harsh and bitter. He felt bad, instantly. As if the situation wasn’t already bad enough, here he was being an absolute prick to Geralt, who had no reason to be helping him. Swallowing thickly, he forced a smile again. “Sorry. I don’t know - you’re just trying to help and I’m—”

He shook his head. “Don’t. You have reason to be upset.” He paused. “How about a nap?”

Jaskier tensed, biting his bottom lip hard enough he tasted blood. Geralt seemed to notice if his frown was any indication. “I can’t sleep right now,” he confessed quietly. “Every time I wake up, I’m—well, you know. Worse.”

“Oh.” Geralt nodded. “And you can’t play right now?”

It was a question, but Jaskier knew he knew the answer.

“How about you sing while I read?” he continued. Jaskier blinked owlishly. The _while you still can_ hung in the air, unspoken but no less heavy.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “My voice isn’t exactly performance ready.” By that, he meant the damned thing was too whiny and high, a stark contrast to his usual voice.

Geralt shrugged. “I won’t judge.”

“Well, that is new,” he replied with a hint of amusement. “I thought you didn’t like my voice.”

Geralt stood up. Jaskier knew him well enough to notice he was suppressing a smile. “It’s grown on me over the years,” he admitted with a small shrug, and Jaskier grinned, feeling the lightest he had in days.

“You love my voice, admit it,” he said, and Geralt peered down at him, eyes uncharacteristically soft. Jaskier felt his heart skip a beat.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I love your voice, Jaskier.”

Jaskier blinked once. He hadn’t actually expected to hear the words. Laughing softly, he ducked his head. “Okay, well, what do you want to hear?”

“Your choice,” he said, and Jaskier hummed as he considered his options. He had been working on a new piece before accompanying Geralt to Kaer Morhen but it was still unfinished, ignored in favor of more important things. His gaze fell on Geralt. He hadn’t intended on sharing the finished piece, actually. He had a few songs like that, written just for him, a way to express his feelings more secretly.

“I have one,” he said, and if Geralt noticed the quiver of his voice he didn’t say anything, just stood up and walked back to his latest stack of books.

Jaskier closed his eyes and began to sing, heart pounding faster with every word.

He only opened his eyes once he was done. Predictably, Geralt was watching him with an odd expression, not unhappy but hesitant.

“Was that about me?” he asked, and Jaskier couldn’t quite read the tone of his voice.

He smiled sheepishly. “Depends. Do you want it to be about you?” he asked, a genuine question.

Geralt hardly seemed like the type to enjoy a song of _romance_ and _feelings_. “We should - ” He paused, looking away. “We should save this for later. Once you’re - ” He gestured blindly in his direction, and Jaskier could only hope there’d be a _later_.

Because the slight curl of Geralt’s mouth was very promising.

/

Jaskier was going to die, he thought, staring up at the ceiling. He was wrapped in a scratchy blanket. Geralt checked on him every couple of hours and every time Jaskier hated the look on his face. No answers yet and now they weren’t including him in the conversations, probably for the better. He didn’t think he’d be able to contribute much.

Soon he would be _unable_ of contributing.

Being unable to talk, for him, was no better than death. That moment in the library, pouring his heart out to Geralt, might be the last song he ever sings.

At least it had been a proper ballad about Geralt. Geralt was certainly what he would miss most once he was gone. Him, and his lute. If the afterlife did exist, well, he hoped he would be allowed to play. He would certainly wait patiently for Geralt’s arrival.

Sitting up, he peered at the closed door. Geralt’s warnings echoed in the back of his mind: _Don’t go anywhere without me,_ he had commanded. Begged, really. Jaskier had agreed, of course, but now he was itching to be somewhere else.

Kaer Morhen had always been a place of death, he knew, but now he was really feeling it.

Climbing out of the bed, he walked to the door and opened it. No sign of Geralt, or any of the others. He quickly scurried down the hallway, headed for one of the towers.

Geralt found him within the first hour. Jaskier was impressed.

“What you—?” he started, harsh and angry, but his mouth snapped shut as Jaskier turned around, eyes bloodshot. “Jaskier,” he said instead, a little softer. He took a step closer and sat down next to him. Jaskier hoped if there was an afterlife that he could peek in on Geralt after he was gone. “It isn’t over yet,” he continued, and Jaskier let out a laugh.

“But _isn’t_ it, my dear witcher?” he shot back without looking at him, staring at the darkening sky. “You are no closer to a cure or anything of the sort. You can’t find Yennefer. I’m as good as dead.”

At this point he would even accept her help, consequences be damned, but alas no one had been able to find her. Geralt growled, low and muffled, as he wrapped his arm around Jaskier.

“Don’t say that. Vesemir thinks—”

Jaskier turned toward him. “Stop,” he interrupted gently. “I don’t want to hear it, okay? Just - don’t.”

Geralt blinked at him, jaw clenching. “Okay,” he agreed finally, and Jaskier sighed, thankful. He knew they were all only trying to help but frankly he was _tired_. “What do you want to talk about then, if not that?”

He side-eyed him. “I thought you enjoyed the quiet.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, “but I’ve grown to see the appeal of conversation over the years.”

Jaskier nodded. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Anything,” he replied, and Jaskier smiled slightly, eyes still wet.

“Will you read to me?” he asked, and Geralt blinked owlishly, doing little to hide his surprise. Jaskier didn’t back down, heart pounding. “I have a book of poems,” he continued. “Back in my room.”

It was one of his last purchases before traveling to Kaer Morhen. He had only read it once, and quickly. He wouldn’t mind hearing the poems again, especially from Geralt’s mouth. He had always thought he had a lovely voice, deep and smooth.

“Okay,” Geralt said, surprising him back. He squeezed his shoulders once before standing up.

When he returned, he sat back down and they curled together to fend off the cold. Geralt had brought a candle with him; he lit it, now, with a short burst of magic before opening the book. Jaskier leaned against him and closed his eyes, listening as he started to read the very first poem. He would do anything, he thought, to never leave Geralt’s side.

/

Jaskier started to regress quicker; none of them knew why, just that they had to hurry. Three days later and he was so small he had to be carried. It was embarrassing, though Eskel seemed to quite enjoy it, taking up most of the shifts.

Geralt could barely look at him, now, jaw always clenched. That easily hurt more than any curse.

“I have something we can try.”

Lambert was the one to say it, surprising them all. All eyes turned to him. Jaskier was excluded from that; eyes closed as he drifted in and out of slumber. He found that regressing didn’t just have visual changes. He was tired all the time now, barely able to keep his eyes open for longer than a couple hours at a time.

He could still hear the conversation at least. “What?” Geralt asked, and there was a short pause.

“I considered it, before, but didn’t know if it would work,” Lambert admitted, “but after discussing it with Vesemir, we have to try.”

Silence again. Jaskier tried to will his eyes open. He was just so _tired_.

“What is it?” Eskel asked, voice soft, probably thinking of Jaskier. The public really did have the wrong idea about witchers, he thought. They could be quite sweet. If he survived this, he would have plenty of ideas for future ballads.

Vesemir was the one to speak next, “Won’t break the curse, but could counteract it.”

“Okay,” Geralt said, fast. “As long as he won’t be hurt.”

Another pause, longer than the last. “He shouldn’t be,” Vesemir replied finally. “But chaos is always unpredictable, Geralt. And this is new territory. Even worse.”

Jaskier could imagine the look on Geralt’s face. He wished he could be there to comfort him.

It was later, deep into the night, when Geralt visited him. Jaskier opened his eyes as a candle was lit; Geralt was washed in a golden glow. Jaskier couldn’t help thinking he kind of look like an angel. Geralt sat on the edge of his bed.

He hadn’t caught most of the details of the their plan; Eskel had left as they started to talk, voices growing louder, dropping Jaskier off in his room with a gentle pat to his chest. Now, looking at Geralt, forehead creased with worry, he wondered if it really was a dangerous plan. He supposed they had no choice, and he trusted Geralt to do all he could to protect him.

“A sorceress is coming. Not Yennefer, don’t worry. She will help us do the spell.” Geralt reached for him before seeming to think better of it, retracting his hand with a deep frown.

Jaskier closed his eyes, too weak to keep them open any longer.

/

Jaskier was on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. The mage was a pretty woman, far sweeter than Yennefer. _Triss_ , Geralt had called her with fondness. He hoped she was half as capable as Yennefer. Now she spoke with the others, a hint of worry in her pretty voice.

He wondered idly if she could sing.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” she was saying. “Are you sure you shouldn’t call for Yennefer?”

Geralt grunted, “Jaskier wouldn’t want that.” A short pause. “You’re more than capable.”

Jaskier could hear her laughter, soft and like music to his ears. “High praise from you,” she remarked, and he decided he liked her. He could only hope he’d have a chance to properly meet her.

He heard footsteps. Closed his eyes. A hand gently touching his face. He opened his eyes, expecting the mage, not Geralt. He should’ve known better; the hand was far too big and rough.

“I hope you can forgive me,” he said gruffly, and Jaskier didn’t understand but he knew he would. He would always forgive Geralt. He had forgiven him after the heartbreak on the mountain, after all, and Jaskier had never felt pain quite like that.

He closed his eyes again, unable to express as much but he knew Geralt had to know. He had been his loyal companion for decades.

And, lately, his love for him had grown even more powerful. He would follow him to the end of the world and he no longer had any doubt that Geralt would do the same.

“Okay,” Geralt said. “I’m ready.”

The last thing Jaskier remembered before the darkness overtook him was a dull ache all over his body and Geralt’s muted grunts of discomfort.

/

When he opened his eyes, he was in a bed. He took a deep breath, let his lungs fill with air, before he slowly sat up. The second thing he noticed was Geralt by his bedside, the sappy bastard. He was asleep, a sight Jaskier found painfully endearing. How long had he stayed awake by his side?

The door was open and he looked up as a woman entered the room with dark curls and a small smile.

“You’re awake,” she said. It was quietly uttered but still enough for Geralt to startle, eyes snapping open.

Jaskier peered down at his hands, large - well, _comparatively_ , but still nothing compared to Geralt’s hands - and callused over from decades of playing the lute; back to normal, then. Geralt grabbed one of his hands and he lifted his gaze.

“We knew it had worked but we didn’t know if—” He paused, took a breath. “Didn’t know if you’d wake.”

Jaskier smiled slightly. “Well, here I am.”

Geralt smiled back, small but genuine. “Here you are,” he agreed, uncharacteristically soft.

“I should look you over,” Triss interrupted gently, stepping forward. “Make sure everything went smoothly.”

Jaskier nodded. He already trusted her, both because Geralt obviously did and because she just _felt_ trustworthy. Triss smiled pointedly at Geralt, who withdrew his hand with a displeased grunt. Jaskier closed his eyes when she said to, and relaxed under her soft but firm touch.

“Okay,” she said after a while. “All good.”

Jaskier side-eyed Geralt, catching the relief in every line of his face. Triss left after that and even closed the door behind her with a small knowing smile. Without a word, Jaskier presented his hand to Geralt. He took it, squeezing.

“Do I want to know how you fixed this?” he asked, sincerely. “Tell me no, and I’ll never ask again.” He meant it.

He remembered vaguely “ _I hope you can forgive me.”_ He would be curious, undoubtedly, but he could resign to never knowing if Geralt thought that would be best. He felt fine, and that was what mattered. Back to himself. His fingers itched with the urge to play his lute.

“It’s complicated,” Geralt replied after a long while, not quite looking at him. “A mix of different spells. Not unlike what I did to Yennefer all that time ago.” Jaskier noted the crinkle of skin around his mouth that showcased his displeasure — no, _guilt_.

Jaskier waited patiently, asking no questions.

“Triss found a way to reverse the curse by merging our—” He gestured vaguely. “Lives, souls, whatever you wish to call it.” Geralt finally looked at him. “We can be away from each other,” he continued, as if Jaskier would ever want that, “but there is a catch.” He swallowed, looking guilty again. “You will age slower than you did before.”

He didn’t quite understand. “Okay,” he said slowly. “And why are you apologizing, exactly?”

He hadn’t exactly apologized, to be fair, but still. Geralt frowned at him. “I did it without your consent,” he said sharply. “I did the exact same thing to do you as I did to—”

Jaskier squeezed his hand, hard. Geralt’s mouth snapped shut. “You do understand I am not her, yes?” Geralt blinked once, looking thrown by the question. Good. Jaskier smiled slightly. “I am more than happy to have our fates intertwined.” He squeezed even tighter. “She was a fool to not have been glad for it.”

“You’ll live a lot longer,” Geralt said, and Jaskier laughed lightly.

“That is hardly a _bad_ thing, Geralt,” he said.

Geralt just continued to frown. “It isn’t what you’d think,” he said, quiet and bitter. “Living as long as we do.”

Jaskier supposed he would know, and so he didn’t want to argue, but he was back to himself, which meant he was back to being the optimist pf the duo. He shrugged. “But at least I’ll always have your company,” he remarked, raw and genuine despite the bright smile on his face.

“You deserve far better company,” he grumbled, and Jaskier hummed thoughtfully.

“I’m pretty sure any other company wouldn’t have had a centuries-old library and Lambert to save me,” he pointed out.

Geralt’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. Good enough for him. “Fucking Lambert,” he grunted, and Jaskier laughed again, eyes crinkled.

“Don’t be jealous,” he said, a little lower. Geralt’s eyes darkened as he peered at him. The curse might’ve just been worth it if this was the outcome. “Only _one_ moody witcher has my heart,” he assured him, and the press of warm lips felt like coming home.


End file.
